The Penny Drops
by Voltorph
Summary: John just wants to be paid more attention.


The afternoon had dragged; minutes that felt like hours and hours like days. Boredom set in like a dull ache in his bones, which translated perfectly into Sherlock's deliberate peeving of his partner. He didn't know for whose benefit it was initiated, but it seemed an obvious solution to engage in a late-afternoon shag, Sherlock perfectly content ride from the top and do the work so long as he was _doing _something. It was slow and languid, though enjoyable, but Sherlock didn't think for a second against retrieving his phone from the bedside table as it buzzed. Sherlock opened the message, making a small noise of thought as he typed out a reply, ever one for multitasking efficiency and still rocking his hips forward.

"Sherlock, do you mind?" John huffed, his eyes narrowing as Sherlock tapped at the screen of his phone. Of course, John had become overly used to Sherlock's multitasking-going so far as to review evidence from a crime scene while leisurely giving John a handjob against the kitchen counter. For once, though, John wanted to be paid attention.

Sherlock groaned a noise of annoyance, staring at the screen still as another message came through. He leaned forward slightly, pressing his palm flat to John's abdomen for support. "But it's Lestrade," He said pointedly. "Could be important. Or interesting. Either or, really."

"I don't care who it is." John snapped his hips up sharply as if to prove a point, fingers digging into the skin at the small of Sherlock's back. "Right now, I'm important. Not another bloody homicide or-" He did it again, causing Sherlock to fall forward slightly. "Or anything else."

The hand gripped the phone shot down firmly to keep himself from collapsing completely, fist pressing down into the mattress. He moaned quietly, closing his eyes to collect himself for a moment before shooting John a glare, the effect of which was probably lost considering where, exactly, John was occupying him momentarily. "Are you going to explain it to him?" He retorted. "He's just going to call if I stop responding."

"Then let him call." John sat up slightly, pressing his lips to the smooth planes of Sherlock's chest. "It won't be my problem when you cry out my name just as Lestrade's about to give you any data." With that, John flipped Sherlock onto his back with one fluid motion, his hands moving now to caress down the detective's now-exposed thighs.

Sherlock's breath left him momentarily as they flipped, shivering at the touch trailing down his legs. "Hmm, who has flexible morals now?" He challenged, shifting against the pillows to get comfortable. "You always get cross with me for putting off anything that could help with saving lives," Sherlock mumbled, running his hands over John's biceps and shoulders, "And here you are putting it off for a shag. Great example, John."

"I have no problem admitting that I don't feel bad about it, oddly enough." John leaned over Sherlock, trailing kisses down the length of his collarbone as he continued to thrust into him with calculated strokes. "Besides, it's Friday afternoon. Technically we're both off."

"Technically, but that doesn't mean- ah!" Sherlock cut himself off, arching his back off the mattress as John drove in at just the right angle, one that had only been achieved every now and then in their former position. Though, were he being honest, he hadn't been trying too hard before, content to draw it out as long as possible. "-doesn't mean that I shouldn't look into it."

"You'll have time." John snarled, picking up his pace. To be honest, Sherlock at this point had no better chance of escaping than Lestrade had catching the perpetrator without him. John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's bobbing erection and tugged once-twice, watching with satisfaction as the detective arched underneath him.

"Ugh, I hate you so much right now," Sherlock growled, the phone lying forgotten beside them as he hooked his legs around John's hips, heels digging ruthlessly into his arse and lower back. Almost as if sensing he'd given up replying, his mobile began to buzz, the DI's picture glowing on the screen. "What-" He made a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, "-did I tell you?" He huffed, reaching out with a trembling hand to flip it over. "His face is the last thing I want to see while I'm trying to have sex...it's disconcerting."

"Go on, answer it." John hummed, slowing his strokes and turning his attention instead to the skin just below Sherlock's earlobe. "I won't misbehave-much." It was almost a challenge. With one deft movement, John lifted Sherlock's arse and slid a pillow into the space between him and the mattress. This would be absolute torture. "Here." He picked up the vibrating mobile and tapped the screen, opening the call.

For the first time in a long while, Sherlock cursed himself for being so flippant before. It wasn't strictly in John's nature to be spiteful, but the look in his eye told Sherlock he wouldn't have any trouble adapting to it at all. He narrowed his eyes weakly, lids fluttering at their position shifted just so. Swallowing thickly, he attempted to right his voice as much as possible. "Lestrade," Sherlock greeted, thrilled to find it relatively normal, if a bit out of breath.

John let Sherlock babble on with Lestrade about trajectory and motives for a small while, just barely grinding his hips against Sherlock's arse. Of course, he wouldn't dare break the delicate line between work life and home life-but push the boundaries-maybe. Making himself lie almost flat against Sherlock's chest, John swiped his tongue up the side of Sherlock's neck. "Interesting enough for you?" He hummed, softly enough that Lestrade wouldn't hear. "Christ, Sherlock, you're so unbelievably tight." John illustrated by drawing almost all the way out-then sliding back in with agonizing precision.

"Quite," Sherlock mouthed, lips twisted in a smirk for maintaining a great deal of composure thus far. His free hand moved up John's back, trailing his nails just enough to leave temporarily lasting red marks. It was quite possibly his favorite part of sex with John, the lasting evidence that neither could seem to resist leaving. He let out a slow breath as John moved back into him, the sensation of being empty then filled again, so slowly, enough to make his lips part in a silent moan. "Sorry," He cleared his throat and spoke into the receiver. "Repeat what you've just said."

John grinned against Sherlock's skin, teeth scraping gently against his exposed neck. Carefully, John brought his hand to encircle Sherlock's erection, thumbing the head teasingly as he watched his reaction. This was completely unfair, it was true, but in a sense, John knew Sherlock wouldn't be cross in spite of it. He reveled in the challenge-ached for it. "I'm going to make you come." John breathed into Sherlock's ear. "And you won't be able to help it."

He had thought he had a very firm hold on himself, but Sherlock inadvertently let out a pathetic whimper at the combination of John's words in his ear (he quite liked that, must remind him to do it more often, Sherlock noted) and the skillful, calloused fingers teasing his cock. "Nothing, it was n-nothing," He stuttered out, turning his head to the side and digging his teeth into his lower lip with some force. Twining his own fingers into John's hair, he gripped at the short, blonde hair and pulled, not even sure himself whether it was out of warning or desperation.

With practiced ease, John lifted Sherlock's legs even higher, bracing both ankles on his shoulders. This was all about angles. Perfected, doctorized angles. Righting himself, John picked up his pace. Each swift stroke hit right on the mark, and was guaranteed to bring Sherlock crashing over the edge within minutes. He alternated between frenzied thrusts and slow, deliberate pushes. Biting his lip, John held in an animalistic groan from escaping.

The moment John resumed thrusting after hoisting his legs up, the phone dropped and bounced on the pillow beside Sherlock's head. This was the point when he lost himself, his mind, for only a few moments as John forced him to think of nothing else beyond the sensations, and to trust him with Sherlock's body under his ministrations until he came back to earth. As his breath came out in loud pants and he trailed his shaking hand to wrap around his aching cock, Sherlock was only vaguely aware of the inquisitive murmurs from the phone beside him.

"That's it, Sherlock." John praised, resting a hand on Sherlock's abdomen. "Does Lestrade know that I'm fucking you?" The question was harsh, yes, and perhaps John didn't even care that the detective inspector may have heard. "Does he know that you're _mine_ at the moment?" John punctuated his inquiries with desperate cants, wrapping his own fingers around Sherlock's as he stroked himself.

Sherlock was finding it a momentous task to form words at the present moment, and settled for nodding frantically because, dignity aside, there was absolutely no way Lestrade hadn't heard that or even put it together himself by this point, however inept he may have been. But he couldn't convince himself to care when John was touching him, possessing him, and moving inside of him just beautifully as no one else had ever done. "I...god, John-" He managed out before his entire body seized, nails digging into John's neck as he threw his head back against the pillows with a gasp, coming harshly in long, full streams across his abdomen.

"Oh christ, Sherlock," John gasped, giving in as Sherlock tensed underneath him. He came with a breathy moan, Sherlock's name mingled with a stream of unidentifiable curses. Silence followed, interrupted only by the audible 'click' of a phone line going dead. After a beat, John lapsed into a fit of giggles, falling onto the mattress beside Sherlock. "I think he knows."

Sherlock was blinking up at the ceiling, waiting for his mind to come back to full functioning, but turned his head toward John with an eerie slowness. His gaze was stern and serious. "Really? You think he heard that since we were so quiet?" His expression remained unmoving for a few moments more before a playful smirk crept onto it. "You are much more evil than you let on, John Watson."


End file.
